


She Blames Herself

by thexfilesbabe



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Episode: s10e04 Home Again, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 10, The X-Files Revival, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thexfilesbabe/pseuds/thexfilesbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She did not deserve to lose her mother tonight. She didn’t deserve to lose her father or her sister or her children or her dog either. But here she is, a mother without a child and a daughter without a mother, lightly trembling against the headboard of the bed they once shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She jerks herself from a fitful sleep back into a muddled consciousness. She’s on her back, muscles tensed and jaw clenched. Her hands are balled so tightly into fists that her nails have left deep groves in her palms. She slowly unfurls her cramped fingers to run her hand through her disheveled, crimson curls but stops as she brushes the dampness of tears covering her cheeks. Her breathing is labored and she finds it increasingly difficult to allow breath into her lungs. Abruptly sitting up, leaning herself roughly against the oak headboard, Scully wraps her arms around herself tightly, anticipating the sobs that will soon be wracking her small frame.

There’s a rustling of sheets beside her and soon she can make out his eyes in the dim moonlight. She can see concern warping his features, making him resemble the young FBI agent who stood guard at her hospital bed all those years ago. Scully avoids looking directly at him, knowing that seeing the combination of fear and love in his eyes will break her, and she can’t let herself crumble. Not tonight.

“Scully,” he whispers, but she turns her face away. “Scully, please…” He’s pleading with her now. He desperately wants to take away her pain. She did not deserve to lose her mother tonight. She didn’t deserve to lose her father or her sister or her children or her dog either. But here she is, a mother without a child and a daughter without a mother, lightly trembling against the headboard of the bed they once shared. All she has left are two estranged brothers and one estranged friend/partner/lover. He knows he is the root of all of her suffering, but he can’t seem to leave her alone.

The tears are coming faster now, like a river coursing down her fine cheekbones, illuminated in the beams of pale light that slip through the curtains. Her body begins to shake violently, and she tries to suppress the sobs bubbling up in her throat. Mulder desperately wants to reach out, touch her, wrap her fragile body in his arms and tell her it will all be okay. He uses every last ounce of willpower he possesses to resist, not wanting to cross the invisible line that was drawn between them when she left over a year ago. He pulls himself up and leans back against the headboard with her, making sure to give her the space she needs to feel in control of the situation.

Scully doesn’t speak for a long while; the only sound in the room is her feeble sobs and the sound of the clock, ticking off each passing second.

“She hated me.”

Mulder almost jumps at the rawness of Scully’s voice as she breaks the silence. “What are you talking about?” He asks gently.

“Mom. She…she…,” another round of sobs cuts off her sentence. Her arms are still wrapped firmly around herself, desperately trying to keep the pieces of her from falling apart.

“Scully,” he sighs, “you know that’s not true.”

She drops her head and pulls up her knees so her chin is resting against her chest. Scully’s eyes close and a single tear drips off the end of her nose as she whispers, “You hate me too.”

Mulder jerks his head to look at her. She’s trembling. Eyes still closed, a new wave of tears, silent this time, streak her face. How could she possibly think that? He wonders. Looking at her, though, he knows she believes what she said is true.

“Scully,” Mulder begins, but she curtly cuts him off.

“Don’t,” she says. There’s a sharp edge to her voice that gnaws at him. He so badly wishes to wipe the tears away that stain her face. He knows he shouldn’t, but he thinks she’s beautiful when she cries.

“Dana.” She startles at the use of her first name and turns her head to meet his eyes before she knows what she’s doing. For the first time since they left the lake where they spread Maggie’s ashes, Scully is actually looking at him and he can see how truly close she is to shattering.

“I could never hate you.” Scully looks as though she will protest this. “Never,” Mulder firmly states.

Scully tears her eyes from Mulder’s and squeezes them shut as new tears threaten to fall. Her hand reaches blindly for Mulder’s in the dark and he meets her halfway, intertwining their fingers. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb, and, as the minutes pass, the lines of tears criss-crossing her cheeks dry. 

Mulder hears her begin to softly sniffle, trying to hide her need for a tissue. He gently squeezes her hand before releasing it, throwing the covers off and rising from the bed. Slipping into the bathroom, he grabs a box of kleenex from the back of the toilet and walks back into the bedroom. As he advances towards the bed he can see panic in her bloodshot eyes. She thought it was his turn to leave, that despite what he had just said, perhaps he truly does hate her. Hates her for giving up their son, hates her for leaving. He feels a large lump rise up in his throat.

Hearing him approach, Scully turns towards his side of the bed and as soon as he is settled, she begins inching her way towards his warm body. Mulder immediately opens his arms and allows her to lay her head against his chest. Tissues forgotten, he begins rubbing soothing circles on her back, knowing that she will speak again when she was ready.

It seems as though hours have passed and Mulder is drifting between wakefulness and sleep when he feels Scully’s soft voice vibrate against his rib cage, “I was a coward, Mulder. And I’m sorry.”

He knows what she means. He knows that she blames herself for giving up their son, for not having the courage to stand by him, to protect him. She blames herself for Mulder not being able to know his son. She blames herself because he never got to hear his first word, teach him how to swing a baseball bat, or even see him smile. He knows that she blames herself for everything that went wrong. He also knows that she feels guilty for the precious little time she did get to spend with their son while he was off searching for the truth. His heart aches for Scully, this beautiful, strong woman who was forced to make an impossible decision. And it was his fault.

“Scully, listen to me. You made the right decision.” 

“Mulder…” He can feel her lip quivering against his chest. “I… I threw him away… like… like he was garba-”

“No!” And it comes out a bit more aggressively than he intended. The outburst causes her to start folding in on herself again, pulling away from him. He tightens his grip around her waist. “You didn’t. You didn’t treat him like garbage; you protected him, Scully.” Mulder pauses, swallowing hard. “You saved our son.”

He wants to shake her until she believes his words. He wants to kiss her until her guilt is gone. He was to love her until she is whole again.

She shakes her head “no”, rubbing her cheek against his worn cotton shirt. He looks down at her mussed hair and flushed cheeks and can’t stop himself from leaning down and placing a gentle kiss at her hairline. At this, she tenses and then immediately relaxes her body against his. Mulder resumes tracing soothing circles on her back and she sighs. 

Mulder realizes that he has allowed Scully to carry this heavy burden alone. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the emotions and hurt that surround the loss of their son. That’s why she blames herself so fully; that’s why she thinks he hates her. But that stops now, he thinks. This weight will always follow them, a cross they will carry for the rest of their lives. But now they must shoulder it together.

“I love you, Scully.”

Her right hand moves from its resting place on his chest, searching for his left. She intertwines their fingers and squeezes.


	2. Chapter 2

Early morning sun began to creep slowly through the gauzy curtains of the bedroom. A cock crowed distantly, causing Mulder to stir. He pulled the covers up and above his head, trying to block out the growing brightness of the sunlight. When the cock crowed again, Mulder sighed deeply, accepted defeat, and began to rub the sleep from his eyes. He absently reached across the bed, searching for her hand, her waist, any part of her he could use to anchor them both to each other. His hand met crisp, cool sheets. Sitting up he turned towards the empty space beside him, brows furrowed in concern and sad realization.

She had left. Last night she was grieving, covered in salty tears, clinging to his thin, cotton t-shirt. That was acceptable Scully-behavior, in the night, where she could hide in the cover of darkness and their thick down comforter. But, after all these years, she couldn’t face him in the light of day. She didn’t – couldn’t – trust him enough to allow herself to be seen vulnerable in the harsh sunlight, where everything seems so real. At night, in the inky shadows, life feels less weighty, less impossible. The day is not as kind, bringing to light all the things you try to forget, try to hide.

He sighed again, this time wearier, heavier. What could he say, what could he do for her? As he fell apart after both his mother’s and father’s deaths, Scully had been there, even when he had pushed her away, yelled, showed up at her apartment drunk out of his mind. She had cared for him, she had held him, she had dried his tears. And he would do the same for her.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed his keys off the bedside table and slipped into a pair of ratty running shoes, almost as an afterthought as he took long strides out the bedroom door and down the hall. As he approached the main room of the house, his pace slowed.

Coffee. He smelled coffee.

Rounding the corner and stepping into the sparsely furnished living room, Mulder saw the front door sitting open and could hear the muffled noises of coffee percolating. A cold wind whipped into the entryway, causing the screen door to lightly swing on its creaky hinges. He took a deep breath of the chilled air, and stepped outside.

There she was, bed head, wrapped in her favorite flannel throw she had left behind in her hurry to leave him last year. She held a mug of coffee in her hand, steam rolling off in waves. Her hair fluttered around her pale, freckled face, catching on the dry skin of her cracked lips. She hasn’t noticed him standing there and he takes a moment to see her in a rare moment of unguardedness; she was simply existing. No power suits donned as armor. No carefully constructed walls to hide her emotions, to keep him out. She looked calm, but pensive; maybe even a bit wistful. Her freckles and mole that she tries so desperately to hide, as if they are chinks in her bulletproof armor, stand out proudly against her porcelain skin in the soft, morning sun.

Lifting her right hand, she brushes away a delicate tear off her cheek and tucks her unkempt hair behind her ear in one smooth movement. Mulder catches his breath as the early dawn rays dust her face with gold. Even in her sorrow, she is beautiful. He takes slow steps towards her from behind, and by the way her posture changes, he knows that she has heard him begin to approach.

Mulder stands directly behind her, wraps one arm around her waist, and places a gentle kiss to her cheek, still damp from tears. She closes her eyes and leans into the kiss, letting out a soft sigh.

“H-hey,” she breathes, her throat tight and raw, but the smallest curve of her lip tells him that she’s happy to see him. He takes a step back, but leaves his hand resting on her hip, light as a feather. She passes him the mug of coffee, without looking at him. It is silent except for the gusts of wind blowing through the bare trees.

The mug warms his stiff, chilled fingers. He knows before he even tastes the coffee that it contains two sugars and the smallest splash of whole fat cream. It’s one of the only indulgences she allows herself in her strict diet, her regimented life. He sips the coffee slowly, relishing the warmth it trails down his throat and into his empty stomach. He clears his throat.

“I woke up and you weren’t there.” She stands next to him, staring straight ahead, giving no reaction to his words. “I thought that…,” he trails off, not knowing what he’s trying to say to her, what he so desperately needs her to understand.

She slowly turns towards him and leans in. He can feel the warmth of her body radiating from her, the smooth flannel of the blanket wrapped snuggly around her petite frame. She smiles sadly and looks at his chest, avoiding his eyes.

“The house looks spotless. Have you hired a maid?” she attempts a joke, to lighten the mood. It’s a pitiful attempt; her heart isn’t in it, and it falls flat. She frowns. “I’m sorry,” she says simply. “I wanted to let you sleep. And… I needed coffee.” He shifts his hand from her waist to her upper arm, pulling her all the way around to face him, trying to make eye contact and failing. “And…I needed….I needed time to think.”

“Scully, listen, I know…I know that we aren’t really on the best terms and that…well I’ve really fucked up and, I just…,” Mulder’s throat begins to close up, tears sting his eyes. “I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Scully inhales deeply, but says nothing. Her shoulders begin to tremble, so subtly that if he wasn’t holding onto her, he would never have known. He’s glad he knows. He holds her tighter. “I want to help you through this. I’m going to help you through this.”

Her entire body has started trembling, coffee starting to slosh out of the cup with her efforts to tamp down her sobs. Mulder extracts the mug from her iron grip and places it on the rail of their front porch. He turns back towards her, trying desperately to catch her eyes, but she just clamps them shut, trying to maintain control.

Her hair has begun to fall from its place behind her ear; Mulder takes a step closer to her, reaches out to tuck the errant strands back, and tenderly brushes his knuckles against her cheek. It’s all it takes, skin to chilled skin, for Scully to fall apart. She rushes hard into his arms, burying her face into his chest in a way that reminds him of a green special agent with some nasty mosquito bites he knew years ago.

Her tears begin to wet his grey shirt. He makes large, soothing circles on her flannel covered back, pulling her closer as her sobs increase in intensity.

“M-Mulder, I….I..,” she quietly whispers between gasps for air.

“Shhhh, Scully. I’m here,” he soothes, “I’m here.”

The coffee cools on the railing as Mulder rocks her back and forth, gently, whispering reassurances and words of love into her mussed hair. And as her sobbing turns to cries and her cries turn to whimpers, he continues to hold her close, arms wrapped tightly around her. She’s letting him hold her broken pieces together, a rare relinquishing of control, and he will not let her down.

When her cheeks have dried and her breathing has regulated, they continue to stand in silence, Mulder holding on to her as if she may dissolve right in front of him, disappear. Scully has been still and quiet for so long that Mulder wonders if she has fallen asleep standing up. Losing your last living parent, your last relative who truly loves and supports you despite your alien-loving partner and questionable life choices doesn’t lend itself to a good night’s sleep. He’s just about to gather her into his arms, blanket and all, when she withdraws her arms from against his chest and wraps them around his body. The strength of her embrace surprises him.

He feels her chest expand as she inhales deeply. “Mulder?” She breathes, a hint of nervousness, maybe even desperation tinging her usually confident, lyrical tone. He doesn’t know if she wants a response, to assure her that he is listening. As if he could stop himself from hanging on her every single word since they met all those years ago in a musty basement covered in newspaper clippings and an unhealthy amount of dust.

He’s about to answer when he feels the vibrations in his chest as she says, “Mulder, I…I want to come home.”

Mulder gasps, tears finally beginning to fall. He tightens his grip around her, holding her close, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, the beating of her heart.

“You’re already here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay it only took me over a year to finish this!! it's a lot different than i imagined the final chapter would be, and i'm still unsure as to how i feel about it. all comments/criticisms are appreciated! thank you so much for reading. come visit me on tumblr: @thexfilesbabe :~)

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the first time I’ve ever written anything (let alone fic) so hit me up with any and all feedback, good or bad. Honestly feel free to rip this apart.


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